


Stray Cat

by Not_You



Series: Animal Ears [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animals, Animalistic, Bunny Girl, Canon-Typical Violence, Catboys & Catgirls, Courtroom Drama, Fluff and Angst, Gore, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kemonomimi, M/M, Pets, Poor Will Graham, Slavery, Sort of? - Freeform, except not really, mason verger is a shit, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 19,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: Will works for the Kemonomimi Management Division, and he wonders why he doesn't just quit to fix boat motors.  Particularly when he ends up with custody of a murderous catman.





	1. Labcat

A member of the Kemonomimi Management Division might make a hell of a lot more money than the Graham family trade has ever provided, but there are days when Will thinks that the relative peace would be worth it. As he does almost every morning, Will curses the Japanese. The team that had created the first generation of kemonomimi had been international, but it's Japan's idea and Japan's fault. Will finds the whole thing perverse. Of course any living kemonomimi deserves a fair shake and Will will do anything that he can to assure it, but they certainly were never meant to be. To say nothing of their suffering before the establishment of the Feral Nation.

Of course, almost none of the kemonomimi who come through their offices are nice, sensible pets or respectable ferals. Within human society, Kemonomimi have two choices: choose a human master and live with them as a pet, subject to their government but with legal protections against abuse and neglect; or fight through enough of the Aptitude tests to be legally ruled human and wear clothes and pay rent for the rest of their days. The third option is to leave human society altogether, gaining the lands and legal protection of the Feral Nation. Will knows which one he would take, but every day he has to deal with abuse of pets, hate-crimes against legal humans, and rogue kemonomimi, given over completely to their animal instincts but with no plans to leave human-inhabited areas.

Cats are the worst. They have the insanely flexible spines of the real animal, the usual enhanced sensory array, sharp teeth, often even sharper claws, and a terrifying power-to-weight ratio. Will knows what he's dealing with when he sees the scene. The organs whimsically hung on the lighting fixtures, the sprays of pungent urine on the walls, all these things are to be expected when a cat goes rogue. Still, there's a certain horrible elegance to this one, and Will grimaces as he prowls the apartment. The victim's head is missing, but Will has a feeling it won't stay that way long. This is borne out when one of the techs comes out of the bathroom to report that the mostly-defleshed head is resting in the toilet bowl, wearing one of those cat-ear headbands for the broke or socially-conscious kemonomimi fancier. 

There's such a vicious note of mockery to it that it takes Will's breath away, and he knows suddenly just where this cat has come from. The surgical precision of the removed organs and the defiantly animal nature of scent-marking point to a lab victim, a kemonomimi who has seen a lot of cold, dispassionate violence, and heard humans use their animal nature to justify it. But beyond that, there's real contempt. Whoever this cat is, he fucking _hates_.

His eyes close and he stands stock still as he sees the whole fucking thing, the cat slinking in through the window and padding over to his sleeping victim. Definitely full capacity, none of the cerebral mistakes these places tend to make. A precise blow to the throat, waking him and keeping him from making a sound, and then the cutting starts. Clawing. Another one of those little mistakes is leaving the claws in, and Will can see them slice and pull at each of these organs. Heart, intestines, testicles, pancreas, a large chunk of liver, and the larynx, each component full of meaning. He hangs them up like gruesome little Christmas decorations, and then goes back for the head. Some very human tool use, here. A meat cleaver from the kitchen, and two well-aimed blows. The defleshing happens in the kitchen, because he must use a proper cutting board, like a real person. And he mustn't be wasteful. Will shudders, coming back to himself. They're not going to find any of that missing flesh, because the killer ate it.

Jack comes up beside him as he watches Katz do her best with the head.

“Well?”

“He's a lab escapee. Alone, amused, and angry.” 

Laboratory production of kemonomimi has been illegal for decades, but like any illegal commodity, there are people willing to risk it for the money. Will has been part of a raid on one of these labs before, and it still haunts him. Nasty, sterile cages are horrible enough when they're full of abused animals, but when the animals are sapient and begging to be told the whereabouts of missing family members... He shudders again, and scrubs at his eyes, remembering a tiny catgirl covered in scars, cowering in the back corner of her cage until they had gotten a female local to crawl in and coax her out. If not for the urine spray here, he would wonder if it was that little lost kitten. _There's_ someone with a reason to hold humanity in complete contempt.

“Will, are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, shaking his head a little in an attempt to clear it. “He took everything for a reason. Probably can't speak, and thinks humans put on too many airs about it.”

“And the intestines?”

“Why do people put up garlands at Christmas? I'm not positive about the pancreas, though.” 

That night Will goes home to his dogs and piles onto the floor with them, glorying in their all-animal smell, their speechlessness, and their simple joy in his presence. He wonders yet again why anyone thought complicating this kind of relationship was a good idea. It's so nice to feel them, too, all sleek and healthy and happy. They sense his need for them, and all troop up to bed when he goes, even though a lot of them prefer to hang out by the fireplace, or to stay up later than their master. Tonight every last one of them piles on without even the usual amount of jostling, let alone any of the jealous little growls he can't entirely train out of them.

When Will wakes up from a nightmare of cages and wide, yellow eyes, the whole pack is still there, and they whine and lick the cold sweat from his face, wagging their tails to assure him that everything is just fine. He chuckles, petting them and murmuring soothingly before getting up to towel off and give everyone a treat for being so good.


	2. Assessment

It isn't even five am when his phone rings, and the dogs whine at him when he has to move his arm to answer it.

“Will,” Jack says, “we've got another one.”

“You're shitting me.” He sits up and slaps his glasses onto his face, scratching a grumbling dog behind the ears. “Where?”

Turns out to be another palatial apartment. This one belongs to Mason Verger, and judging by the amount and specific types of child pornography the techs are finding, he will not be much mourned. Zeller looks like he wants to resurrect Verger for the express purpose of killing him again, and Beverly like she wants to throw up and then assist with that project. Jimmy has fled to fetch coffee, and Will wishes he was still in bed and ignorant of this fucking mess.

The apartment itself is obnoxiously opulent. The other one was just the home of a man of wealth and taste. This is the home of a man with twice the wealth and none of the taste. Will puts on his little plastic booties and squelches over the blood-soaked carpet of the bedroom. There are no careful organ garlands this time. Just the mortal remains of Mason Verger. He's flat on his back, bound spread-eagle and covered in blood. His face and his genitals have been obliterated, each site reduced to a raw, gleaming mess. 

Coming closer, Will can see that the body has been flayed, most of the skin clawed off, and that some very hateful individual has left a massive dump on Verger's bloody chest. Zeller hasn't been able to run his tests yet, but Will has a feeling that as much of this as possible was done while the guy was still alive. If the photos scattered around him are from his own collection, it's probably for the best.

The photos are arranged radially, forming a kind of halo around the ruined head. Each one is a different kemonomimi. All of them are children, and all of them are crying. Will can tell that Verger treasured these fucking things. They're beautifully composed, all on the same backdrop. When one of the techs comes up from the basement to report the existence of a photography studio and even more horrible images, Will is not surprised in the least.

Will closes his eyes, and pictures it. The cat must have come in through the window. They're on the twenty-third floor, but there are balconies below. No problem for an athletic cat. He had hauled himself up and in through the window, dropping to the floor on silent feet, ears pricked and tail puffed up like a bottle brush. The restraints are Verger's own belts, and they had been almost entirely in place before he woke up. Because the cat would want him awake to see what was coming.

"Well?" Jack grumbles at his elbow, and Will twitches, glancing over at him.

"Well, he's still angry," Will says, and Jack snorts. "This one is more personal even than the first, though. He took his time over it."

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Zeller growls, taking a careful sample of the feces on Verger's chest.

"This is a vendetta," Will says. "He's killing kemonomimi freaks and will probably slip off to the Feral Nation as soon as he's done."

Jack nods. "And we can't be sure how many."

"The way lab types get passed around, no."

By the time Will can leave the scene, it's nearly time to go to work anyway, so he just gets a coffee and lurks in the park, watching people go by and counting tails. Kemonomimi have a fifty percent chance of breeding true, so their numbers in human population centers are increasing along with the rate of actual mixed relationships producing wanted pregnancies. 

A visiting feral stands on the corner wearing the usual loincloth as a concession to human prudery, his tail wagging in excitement, certification flashing around his neck. Will doesn't really like the idea, but ferals hate clothing and don't carry wallets, so no one has found a better solution than the collar and tag arrangement for their certificates. The dogman proves himself an example of the system working, waiting to cross the street until the walk sign switches on. Will smiles, watching him out of sight.

This little touch of grace is very helpful to Will as he plows through what feels like all the paperwork in the world on about five hours of sleep. There's always so much more when a kemonomimi eats human flesh, which Zeller's tests have shown, to no one's surprise.

Will never intends to fall asleep at his desk, but sometimes it just happens. He only realizes when he's jolting awake to the shrill ring of his desk phone. He slaps a hand onto the receiver and jerks it up to his ear.

"Graham," he slurs, "what?"

"We're gonna need you to help with the assessment of our tomcat," Jack says.

Will sits up, suddenly a lot more awake. "Shit, that was quick."

"It's hard to get a train ticket when you can't talk and every pet cat of your description has been accounted for. He tried, too. Bastard's wearing a pink ribbon."

"I bet it's just precious," Will says, already looking around for the disparate pieces of the Nonverbal Feral Danger Assessment Kit, "where am I meeting you?"

"Room 8, fifteen minutes," Jack says, and hangs up. 

Will sighs, and drops the handset back into the cradle, getting to his feet to start throwing the kit together. Most of the nonverbal ferals that come through the office are here because of the danger humans pose, not the other way around, so Will has to dig up another set of picture cards, and two more questionnaires. It doesn't take long, but by the time he has everything crammed into the neat little case, he's almost late, trotting down the hall to room 8 and hoping that he doesn't get his spine pulled out by a maladjusted catman.


	3. Care And Feeding

The interview rooms are purpose-built, unlike so much of the rest of this place, so each one has a plexiglass wall dividing it into two compartments. The interviewer's side is just a chair and a desk, with the usual institutional illumination. The client's side is dimmer, with fake turf for the floor. There are also blankets, toys, and cardboard boxes to hide in, things that even legal humans appreciate.

Of course, this particular client probably doesn't appreciate anything. He's crouched on the floor by the clear wall, snarling. His gray tabby ears are laid back flat, and every hair of his lashing tail is standing on end. He is not at all the cute, kittenish type that sells well, and he watches Will with the flat golden glare of a caged tiger, the impression only enhanced by the absence of his pink ribbon.

"Hey," Will says softly, coming to kneel by the glass. He moves slowly, and once he's in place he gives the cat a long, slow blink, squinching up his whole face and then just cracking one eye for a fraction of a second to check the effect. The cat's tail still looks like a bottle brush, but he seems a little calmer, and Will shuts his eye again. He lets a small eternity pass, and then very slowly opens his eyes. The cat is gazing back at him, ears still back, but less flat, tail almost normal size.

"That's right," Will murmurs, and blinks again. "I'm not here to hurt you." The cat remains crouched at the ready, but his tail starts to swish a little, the fur lying flat again. 

"I need you to answer some questions," Will says, "and it's okay if you can't talk, just nod for yes," he says, nodding, "and shake your head for no." He demonstrates that one, too. "Do you understand?" The cat nods, and Will smiles. "That's good."

Will always starts with the picture cards. For one thing, if the kemonomimi can't understand them well enough to use them, that's the golden sign of a true feral. This cat looks like he understands, though. The tip of his tail flicks like the tail of a cat crouched at a mousehole, and he tilts his head to the side, ears swiveling forward.

"Okay," Will says softly, "these pictures are going to help you tell me things. First question: Where do you come from?" 

He spreads out the three cards, each one a glossy picture. There's a cozy-looking living room, which is the one that lost pets always point to, and then an image of a feral village, with its little stick nests and game stashed in the trees, and finally, a laboratory. 

"Which picture is your home?" Will asks. The cat growls, ears flattening back again. He points to the lab with a very evocative hiss and spit, tail lashing. Will sighs, scooping up the cards. 

"Is it a bad home?" He already knows the answer, and puts a hand to the glass when the cat nods emphatically. "Hey," Will says as gently as he can. "We're not going to make you go back."

There are other picture sets, but their use is predicated on the kemonomimi's answers to yes or no questions, and Will begins the usual set. The cat is from a lab, there were terrible abuses there (there rarely are not,) he has a name but doesn't want to disclose it, and he had a little sister who was sold to Mason Verger and never seen again. 

Will shudders, and puts his hand on the glass again. "I'm sorry," he says, and the cat nods, swishing his tail from side to side.

The cat is also unsocialized, rates very high on the Glasgow Animal Instinct and Kemonomimi Intelligence scales, and nods vigorously when Will asks if he's hungry. Will smiles, unable to help liking the cat even if he is a man-eater. "I'll be right back," he says, standing up and quieting the cat's mew of protest. "Hush," he says, patting the glass. "Do you like cooked food?"

The cat nods, wide yellow eyes just a little kittenish now, with hope. He mews again when Will leaves, and Will walks to the kitchen as fast as he can. With all the human staff and the various hungry kemonomimi, there are always a lot of options. Today Will talks to the one of the staffers and is able to procure a whole steamed fish. Will has never once met a cat who wouldn't eat a fish head, and his current client is no exception. He lets out a joyous trill when Will comes in, and waits obediently by the slot for Will to pass him the fish, tail flicking.

"Be careful," Will says, as he slides the tray through, "don't burn your mouth." 

The cat doesn't seem to hear, crouching on all fours to eat, taking tiny, delicate bites of the steaming white flesh. Will smiles, always pleased to see a hungry creature enjoying its meal. There are terrible scars on the cat's white skin, and Will lets the wave of hatred at people who treat animals or near-animals this way flow over and through him. He's going to have to give the results of the assessment to Jack, but he waits for the cat to eat his fish. People always try to distract kemonomimi with food when they're about to do something awful to them, just like real animals. Painful and necessary at best, but Will has a feeling this cat doesn't know much about best options. He devours the whole fish, looking up at Will sharply every now and then, keeping track of him. 

Only when the cat is crunching up the last of the head does Will speak again. "I need to take this information to my boss. No one will hurt you, and you'll see me again tomorrow, okay?"

The cat makes an unhappy noise, but nods. Will smiles. "It's okay," he says softly. "Just rest for a while." The cat nods again, slowly, and Will turns and walks out, headed for Jack's office.


	4. Diminished Responsibility

Jack looks over the assessment without a word, his frown deepening as he reads. Finally, he looks up. "Off the record, what do you think?"

Will shrugs. "I think that he's one of the real throwbacks. More cat than human."

"So diminished responsibility?" Jack asks.

"Yeah," Will says. "You can't say he didn't perform a public service."

"I guess I did ask you off the record," Jack mutters, closing the folder.

"You saw that they found in Verger's house, Jack."

"I did," Jack says. "So what do you recommend?"

"Protective custody until we're sure he's ready for the Feral Nation."

Jack nods. They'll need the rest of the team to weigh in, and there will have to be a hearing. 

Will sighs, tired just thinking about it. "Where are we keeping him tonight?"

"One of the secure rooms."

"Be careful moving him. He was cooperative, but I think he's pretty wild."

"Duly noted," Jack says, and Will goes home to his dogs, wondering how the cat is doing, and what the team will make of him. 

He sleeps fitfully and has bad dreams. In the morning is the meeting about the cat, where the team turns out to be close to unanimous. Now that there's a clear motive for the killings, he's much less of a danger to society. All cats love to kill, so in a case like this it's more of a matter of making sure that it isn't at random and the creature knows that it cannot be at will. The recommendation is for protective custody pending release into the Feral Nation, the only dissent Zeller's quiet grumbling that he hopes they're right.

After the meeting Will goes to the cat's room to check on him. The secure rooms were originally for human mental patients, with soft walls and no real corners. They're too bright for cats to really enjoy them, but with blankets, a few toys, and a box to hide in, most of them tolerate it quite well.

Will slides back the shutter on the observation window and smiles to see the cat asleep in a pile of blankets, the tip of his tail gently twitching. A few seconds later he's wide awake, prowling up to the door with those wide, lamplike eyes. He mews quietly, and stops in front of the window, tail swishing from side to side.

"Hey," Will says softly. "You all right?"

The cat nods, resting his hands on the door. "Mmrrroow?" he asks, and the tone of it makes Will feel like he's returning the question.

"Didn't sleep very well, but I'm okay," Will says, and the cat smiles, one fang hanging over his lower lip. Will smiles back, putting his hands to the window. The cat does the same on the other side, eyes bright and tail twitching. "I have to go," Will says, "but I'll be there for your status hearing on Monday, okay?"

"Rrrrrmmmmrrr," the cat says, tail swishing harder now, his ears partially back. Still, he doesn't hiss or spit when Will leaves, which is pretty good behavior for a thwarted cat.

Will spends the rest of the day making sure his mountains of paperwork are in order. The cat is his only status hearing coming up, but he has to complete his reports on a collection of home visits, review a few pet adoption applications, and also fill out the stack of pre-hearing forms that he's actually responsible for. He stays late and is exhausted by the time he gets home, where he sinks to the floor to cuddle his dogs, even more grateful for them than usual.

The status hearing is set for Monday, and over the weekend Will visits the cat, to be sure that he's adjusting. There's a deep blue gel over one of the lights, making the room significantly dimmer, and there's another cardboard box, more blankets, and a few children's books. The cat is sitting on his pile of blankets, sipping a plastic cup of catnip tea. He smiles at Will, purring as his tail just barely sways, the movement languorous and contented.

"Glad to see you more settled," Will says. He must be behaving, only inmates in very good standing get catnip. Dogs get small amounts of beer, and the rabbits and other rarer types have to content themselves with treats. The cat is a little dazed on tea, and just rolls around happily for a bit before showing Will some of his books. Will confines himself to admiring the pictures for now, and comes back on Sunday to do his pre-explanation of the hearing. 

On Monday morning they'll take a good hour to get the cat used to the restraints and to try to make him understand the reason for them, but Will likes to mention this a day beforehand. He catches the cat before his afternoon cup, and gets the standard kemonomimi restraints, bringing them over to the cat's room. He holds them up to the observation window, one by one. The cat watches with wide eyes, ears flattened to the sides in fear, tail puffing up.

"These are because you killed people," Will says, as soothingly as he can. "You won't have to be in court long, and you'll only have to wear them there." The cat growls lowly, but relaxes a little, tail still bushy. "It will be all right. They don't hurt, and we'll take them off again as soon as we can. I'll have a key, okay?" The cat doesn't so much relax as become tense in another way, ears shifting forward, his face turning kittenish again. "Do you trust me?" Will asks him, and he nods, very slowly. "Good," Will says, "because you can trust me."

This all comes back to haunt him later, because on the morning of his hearing, the cat won't let anyone else touch him. He hisses and spits in rage, backed into a corner, and the orderlies are on the verge of sedating him when Will comes in. The cat calms down and starts to purr, getting more relaxed as Will cautiously approaches him and says, "Remember?" pulling the key from his pocket. "It's gonna be okay," he adds, and strokes the cat's ash-blonde hair. Will ends up having to put the restraints on without any help, because the cat starts hissing again any time anyone else moves to touch him.

"You sure are a lot of trouble," Will grumbles, and the cat just smiles under the muzzle, purring happily.


	5. Cats Are Different

Of course, Will has to walk the cat out to the van, sit with him, and then take him into court. He won't let anyone else near him, but at least the court doesn't scare him. Some kemonomimi are deeply intimidated by all the unusual objects, formal clothing, and unfamiliar people, but the cat just seems fascinated by it all, looking around with bright eyes and forward ears. There are a few legal humans working here, and the cats stop and blink at their fellow, a little gesture of solidarity. He returns it, and by the time he sits down, he's full of that feline insouciance, like he owns the place and everyone in it. Still, that's a lot better than terror, and Will is glad to see it.

Status hearings often don't take very long, but there's a lot of evidence to present here. The cat's crimes are very serious, but he does very well under questioning. He nods to indicate that he does understand that he must tell the truth and will be in trouble if he doesn't, and then answers a series of yes or no questions about his background. 

Yes, he was born in a laboratory, yes, he was taken from his mother and does not currently know where she is. He growls and lashes his tail when they ask him about Mason Verger and his friend. Yes, his sister was sold to Mason Verger. No, he has never seen her again. No, he is not sorry he killed either of them. Fortunately, that won't count against him as much, being a cat. Dogs who have been driven to kill tend to either be completely crazy or wracked with remorse, but cats are different.

Beverly has a whole report on how cats are different, reminding the judge of their powerful hunting instincts and near obligate carnivorism. Zeller gets to remind her of the deplorable conditions in which lab-made kemonomimi are bred and kept, and Jimmy lists all the physical signs of undernourishment and medical abuse that he and Zeller had found during a physical examination. Neither of them have any doubt that the cat's story is true, and Zeller doesn't betray any misgivings about their conclusion that the cat had very definite reasons for what he did.

The cat helps all of this along by sitting nicely and remaining calm. He looks at an issue of _Vogue_ during most of the breaks, the magazine provided by the stenographer. Will has to turn the pages for him because of the mitts on his hands, but he doesn't get impatient. At least they can take the cat's mitts off during lunch, attaching his cuffs to the table as he eats a takeout tuna salad, purring quietly.

Will is the last of the team to speak, and he feels as awkward as ever doing it. He's the one who assessed the cat, and he walks the judge through everything the crime scenes told him, and all of the cat's intelligence scores and other evaluations. "24666 is a remarkably intelligent cat," Will says, "and as Mr. Price told the court, is very likely only unable to speak due to structural problems. The frustration caused by that conflict, along with years of abuse and the presumed fate of his sister, was more than enough to drive him to kill." He shrugs. "I know it would have a similar effect on me."

"Perhaps so, Mr. Graham," the judge says. 

She's not the worst possible choice for their purposes, but she's got one hell of a poker face and Will has no idea which way the wind is blowing. She dismisses him and he goes back to his seat, only knowing that he did his best. The cat watches the judge as she disappears into her chambers, and then goes back to _Vogue_. Will envies his unconcern.

It feels like forever before the judge returns, but it's really only half an hour. She gives no sign, of course, but soon she makes her ruling, and the suspense is over: protective custody pending release into the Feral Nation. The part Will isn't expecting is to have the cat remanded to his care, with security precautions that aren't too bad. Just a tracking anklet and regular claw trims, with a shock collar to be added if his behavior warrants it. The cat trills joyfully, and follows Will back to the van, where he unlocks all the restraints.

"See?" he says softly, and the cat gently pats his cheek. Will smiles. "I wasn't expecting to be the one to look after you, but maybe it won't be so bad."

Back at the Division, Will fills out yet more paperwork while the Encounter Testing people put the cat in the same room as a real dog. Legal humans tend to act just like anyone else with animals, but the more feral types sometimes have conflicts and weird phobias. Will has no idea what the hell he's going to do if the cat flunks, but in the end he doesn't have to worry about it. After some initial wariness, the cat sits on the floor with the dog in his lap, petting it and purring. The dog smiles, wagging its tail. Will still isn't sure how the cat will deal with his whole pack, but at least this is a good sign.

The cat is very interested in Will's car, and sniffs the upholstery for all the traces of Will's dogs, Will himself, and years of coffee and road breakfasts. He seems contented, and doesn't complain when Will buckles his seatbelt. He unbuckles it immediately, but does it again himself, fascinated by the mechanism.

Will smiles. "That's to hold us in if we crash." He starts the car. "And you can get in trouble for not wearing it, these days." He finds himself explaining the entire seat belt law to his rapt audience, and also showing him the memory buttons on the radio. The cat scans incessantly, just as interested in this as in seat belts.


	6. Settling In

When Will unlocks the door to his house the dogs surge forward like always. Being friendly dogs, and as well-socialized as Will can make them, they come up to the cat ready to make friends. He smiles at them, patting each one in turn while Will hangs up his jacket and goes to pour himself a drink.

"Hey, cat?" he calls from the kitchen. The cat makes a little trill of acknowledgment, and comes over, the pack at his heels. "Two things," Will says. "First, do you want a drink, and second, I want to call you something besides 'cat.'"

The cat holds up one finger and nods, and then raises a second and does it again. Will chuckles, and pours him a glass of water. He takes it, sipping it and looking curiously at Will's drink. "You probably wouldn't like it," he says. "For a human it's kind of like catnip tea. I'll get us some of that, if you want it." 

The cat nods again, and then obediently follows Will to the couch. "Let me get you a syllable app," Will says, and pulls one up on his work tablet. 

The touchscreen fills with buttons, and as the cat investigates them he blinks in surprise, and then smiles. Each one makes a distinct phoneme, letting nonverbal and illiterate ferals piece together remembered speech, and give their names. The cat takes a long time over it, the tablet releasing a bizarre babel of sounds until the name 'Hannibal' emerges.

"Hannibal?" Will asks, and Hannibal beams at him, nodding. Will chuckles. "That's a pretty classic name. I like it." Hannibal purrs, and sets the tablet aside, snuggling in under Will's arm and blinking up at him with those big yellow eyes. Will chuckles, and pets him. "Okay, Hannibal."

It's very strange to have a lab escapee in his home. Pets and legal humans are very used to home settings, as one might expect. There's nothing strange to them about carpet or stoves or brooms, and ferals tend to look around with wary fascination, startled by everything. Hannibal is wary and fascinated too, but there's nothing strange to him about drawers or tools. Will is very careful to explain each step as he fixes dinner, making sure that Hannibal knows that kitchen knives and scalpels are very different. Hannibal stands close at he works, ears forward and tail twitching as Will pan-fries chicken and bakes potatoes.

"We'll have to see what you like to eat as we go," Will says, and Hannibal nods. "If you don't like something, just shake your head at it, okay?" Hannibal nods again.

Hannibal turns out to like most of dinner, and devours every bit of the extra chicken Will made for him. That done he wants to nap, and makes a complaining noise when Will leads him upstairs. "I know," Will says, "it's warmer by the fire, but look how many blankets you get." This mollifies him a great deal, and he starts making a nest on the bed. Will leaves him to it, going back downstairs to thank the pack for being so nice and welcoming. He gives them a treat and takes them for a walk before settling in with his latest fly-tying project, because he has done more than enough goddamn paperwork over the last week.

As Will is brushing his teeth, Hannibal comes prowling down the stairs, bright-eyed and alert. He prowls into the bathroom to look over Will's shoulder, fascinated by his current activity. He's so quiet that Will nearly jumps out of his skin, but then smiles at that golden-eyed reflection.

"Hey. Cleaning your teeth makes them last longer," he says, and Hannibal nods slightly, tail twitching. "I'll leave the door unlocked if you want to go out tonight, but remember, when your anklet beeps, you're at the boundary. It's pretty wide, you'll be able to explore the property."

Hannibal nods, and then wanders off to play with the dogs. Will yawns and shuffles out, smiling at them. "If they want to go with you, they can," he says, and Hannibal beams. Will chuckles, and switches off the lights and crawls into bed. He's nearly asleep when he hears the door open, and he hopes that Hannibal and the dogs enjoy their walk.

Will's pets must enjoy their walk. They don't get back until four in the morning, and Will knows that because a heavier weight on the bed than any of his dogs wakes him. There's a sticky-slick feeling against his cheek, sort of lukewarm and with a smell of sweet iron... Will leaps out of bed, scrambling for the light switch. When he can see again, Hannibal is sitting in the middle of his bed, looking confused and a bit put out, ears slightly back and eyes wide. Lying on Will's pillow like the present it is, is a dead rabbit. Its blood is what's drying tacky on Will's cheek.

"Hannibal!" Will snaps, and Hannibal's ears flatten to the sides as he cringes. He looks so unhappy that Will sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed and waving Hannibal over. He crawls to join Will, leaving little tracks of rabbit blood across the sheet. Will puts an arm around him. "Hannibal," he says, "I'm glad you like me enough to want to bring me gifts, but you can't put them in my bed. It's scary for a human to wake up to blood everywhere, and now I have to wash the sheets."

"Puurruurrrr," Hannibal says sweetly, and starts to slowly lick the blood from Will's cheek. 

Will chuckles at first, and then one of those big, human hands is on his chest, steadying Hannibal as he snuggles closer, and suddenly things aren't funny anymore. It has been way too long if being incidentally touched up by a mostly-feral catman is enough to make Will's spine tingle like this.

"Okay," he says, gently pushing Hannibal a little away, "that's enough. We need to wash with soap and water and put the rabbit in the fridge, because I am not skinning anything at four in the morning."


	7. Old Friends

One nice thing about cat kemonomimi is that they don't hate bathing nearly as much as the real animal. They usually hate showers, and Hannibal is no exception, but that just means that Will goes first, scrubbing off under the spray, and then fills the tub for Hannibal, who trills in delight, flinging his loincloth aside and leaping in. Will can't help but catch a glimpse of the business, and is unsurprised to note the near-conical head and the nubby little vestigial barbs at the base. Like the claws, it's another of those little lab mistakes. He goes out to the kitchen, pours a drink, and firmly reminds himself that he is not a kemonomimi freak. It has just been too long, that's all. 

Will downs his whiskey and washes his sheets and pillowcase. The blankets are unscathed, and Hannibal was kind enough to put the rabbit in a gallon freezer bag for him, so Will has the bed remade within fifteen minutes. Long before his task is complete, Hannibal has come prowling out wearing Will's tackiest bathrobe and looking adorable as his tail twitches under the fabric.

"I don't use that one much," Will says, "so we can slit it up the back for your tail, if you want."

Hannibal does want, and is delighted to help with the modification, watching in awe as Will wields the scissors. He's eyeballing the measurement, but it works out pretty well. Hannibal can wrap up against the chill and also hold his tail high the way he wants to. He stretches out on the couch and happily rubs his chin on the arm, purring quietly. Will chuckles, and goes back to bed.

In the real morning, Will gets up early to look up how to process the rabbit, and to find some activities for Hannibal during his work day. The dogs are contented by kongs filled with cheese, treat puzzles, and squeaky toys, but Will is pretty sure a kemonomimi this intelligent needs more than that. If he could just fucking read, life would be a lot easier. He can take the dogs for walks, of course, and that counts for a lot, but Will spends some time digging around for jigsaw puzzles, coloring books, and all the other stuff he keeps around for Beverly's niblings, and also shows Hannibal how the DVD player works. Hannibal is fascinated by this new mechanism, and while he can't read, he can memorize the MPAA ratings.

"If you watch something over PG-13 and get scared or have bad memories, that is not my fault," Will tells him, and then gives him the little burner phone he bought on their way home. His number is already loaded in it, and Hannibal just has to press 1 to reach him. Hannibal tests it immediately, and Will smiles, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Hello?"

"Myow!" Hannibal says into his own phone, and Will grins at him.

"Can you trill for yes, and hiss for no?" Will asks him, speaking into the phone even though Hannibal is about four feet away.

"Brrrt!" he chirps, and Will chuckles.

"Are you a dog, Hannibal?"

"Kkhhhssss!" Hannibal informs him, and Will chuckles.

"Good job," Will says, and hangs up. Hannibal figures out how to do the same, and smiles proudly. Will smiles back, and pats his shoulder. "You're a sharp one," he says. "Probably smarter than I am." 

Hannibal trills, the sound sliding into a happy purr as he nuzzles his face along Will's shoulder. Will strokes his hair and then informs him that he really does have to go now. He's only supposed to come in for half of today, since everyone knows he has Hannibal to deal with, but they've used up most of that time, between dealing with the rabbit, sleeping later, and these quick lessons for Hannibal.

Will is glad to see that Hannibal doesn't complain much about his leaving, just joins the dogs in following him to the door and being patted in farewell. The drive to work is full of wondering and worrying about Hannibal, but once Will gets there, other things compel his attention. For one thing, there's an expedited legal human application to deal with. Verger's twin sister has come out of hiding with a rabbitwoman she's pretending not to be in a relationship with. It is technically illegal, but the rabbit's dark eyes are very clear and very human. Will does his best not to think about the real rabbit Hannibal brought him as he gets to know Alana, and watches her silky black ears twitch as she wriggles her human nose. She's from the same lab that produced Hannibal, but speaks impeccable English, and can corroborate many of his details.

"He knows more of the names," she says softly, "because they were less cautious around the ones who couldn't speak."

Will is relieved to learn that it was a small concern, that they're dealing with something like twenty-five victims instead of the hundreds it can be. Alana was sold to Verger with two children. Margot Verger hadn't been able to prevent the abuse, but she had gotten the pair of little kittens to relatives in the Feral Nation. Alana had been too old for Verger, and given to his sister to play with.

"Until she was attached enough to make killing me fun," Alana says, breathing very deeply and very slowly. One foot twitches again and again, Alana repressing an instinctive stamp of alarm, and Margot holds her hand tightly.

"We've been in hiding for a while," Margot says quietly, still with her white-knuckled grip on Alana's hand.

"You don't need to anymore," Will says, "and we can get the aptitude tests lined up for Alana as fast as she thinks she can pass them."

"Thank you," Alana says, dark, velvety ears rising from her head again, no longer flattened in fright.

"...Not to be patronizing," Will says, "but would you like a carrot? You've been through a lot today."

Alana smiles, ears much more relaxed. "I would love a carrot," she says, and Will goes up to get one for her, as well as coffee for himself and Margot.


	8. Division Business

On his lunch break, Will calls Hannibal. It takes him a while to answer, but he does, with a friendly mew. Will smiles. "Hi, Hannibal. Are you all right?"

"Prrrt!" Hannibal says.

"Are the dogs all right?"

Hannibal trills again, and purrs when Will tells him that he's doing a good job. He also trills affirmatives when Will asks if he has enough to do and if he found the leftover chicken and the package of ham Will had left next to it for him.

"Good," Will says, and sighs. "I have to get back to work, but I'll be home at about half-past five, okay?"

"Bbrrrrttt!" Hannibal trills, and Will tells him to have a good day, and hangs up.

Will can't stop thinking about Hannibal, and about Alana and Margot even as he makes a round of home visits, perturbed spirits soothed a bit by seeing so many happy and healthy kemonomimi. Will takes the pains with pet placement that it deserves, and has seldom screwed up. Rabbits can be very finicky and people often are less sure how to communicate with them, so Will has had to move a few, but he has never delivered a kemonomimi up to a freak or a brute. Today it's all dogs with a few cats, and all of them seem very comfortable in their current homes, coming up to Will with big smiles and gentle demands for affection. 

He pets them and gives them a quick physical look-over, real examinations scheduled with Jimmy later on, and talks to their masters while inspecting their bedding, toys, and food supply. It's necessarily intrusive as hell, and one of Will's key criteria for a good person to keep pets is how philosophically they take it. No one complains today as Will pokes through the cupboards busily not finding any of the nasty, cut-rate things kemonomimi trapped with skinflints have to eat. He also questions the children where there are any, asking what happens when the pet is bad. Clicker training and squirts of water are the most common acceptable things under Division regulations, and Will finds them to some extent in each household.

He comes back to the office to find Margot anxiously waiting as Alana takes the written portion of the legal human test. Margot looks like absolute hell, and Will sits down beside her.

"I still feel so bad about those kids," she whispers. "He had them brought while I was away, my permitted yearly vacation to a beach house full of his hired help. There was nothing I could do, there was nothing Alana could do, but I... we still feel terrible about it."

"She also said you got them out," Will says, very gently.

Margot nods, smiling a little through slow and constant tears that she doesn't even bother to wipe away. "We did. One had a mother who had escaped to the Feral Nation, the other had an older sister. They were so happy to be together again." Margot mops up her tears with a tissue, and Will puts an arm around her. It's not the kind of thing he would normally do. Maybe it feels safer because she's gay, but she leans on him like they've known each other a long time.

The written legal human test has been streamlined over the years, but it still takes a while. Will keeps Margot supplied with coffee and vending machine snacks, crunching miniature pretzels as he fills out the stacks of forms that make up so much of his working life. Margot tells him a little about herself and Alana, about finding a terrified rabbit locked in a guest bedroom, and getting to know her as they plotted to get the children out of his clutches. Apparently Mason Verger had owned his local police department along with everything else in the vicinity. Will makes a note of that for Internal Affairs and listens as Margot talks about how brave Alana really is, that she doesn't let her flight instincts control her.

"She's a better human than I am," Margot says, "and if the test doesn't show it, I don't know what I'll do."

"The main bias is in favor of those who speak well, so she doesn't have as much to worry about as she could," Will says, and Margot chuckles.

"Good to know. Mason thought she couldn't talk."

"Kemonomimi get pretty good at hiding their intelligence. I've got custody of a cat right now, and I don't know half of what he can do."

Alana comes out of the examination room looking pretty relaxed for a rabbit in an unfamiliar environment. Margot gets up and hugs her tightly, and Alana gently grinds her teeth, making a sound almost like purring. Jack shows up a moment later to give them their emergency custody order, which allows Margot to keep Alana until her status can be fully determined, much like Will is keeping Hannibal.

All the way home, Will thinks about the Vergers, wondering how one has a conscience and the other didn't. He's still pondering the question when he opens the door and walks into his house. The dogs are nowhere in sight, but a few come downstairs to him, tails wagging. Will strokes them, and looks around for Hannibal.

"Hannibal?" he calls, and there's an answering trill from upstairs. 

Will goes up to find Hannibal crouched in the bathtub, using one of Will's filleting knives to skin the rabbit. He's doing a very good job and has a whole baking pan of salt to pack the hide in when he's done, so Will just sighs, sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet.

"Hannibal, this is unsanitary, but there's no point in stopping you now."

"Mrrrrow?"

"No, go ahead. I'll bring you some bowls, and when you have the skin off you can gut it and cut up the meat. We'll have it for dinner, okay?"

"Pprrrrrrttt!" Hannibal chirps, gets right back to work. Between the filleting knife and his claws, it doesn't take him long. He purrs as he works, and is very careful about keeping the viscera and meat separate, slicing with surgical precision.


	9. Hidden Depths

Will finally realizes when he takes down the massive old Joy of Cooking his father left him to see how to best cook rabbit. Hannibal has dutifully washed himself and the tub with hot soap and water, and the skin is on the porch, resting in its bed of salt as Will notices that the marker he left at Pastry is in the Wild Game section now, and there are tiny little divots in the cover, the kind of marks left by the claws of a deeply interested cat. There in tiny text and without very many explanatory pictures at all, are the directions on how to butcher a rabbit. Will stands there for a long time, staring through the page.

"Mmrrruurr?" Hannibal asks, looking over his shoulder. He's still a little damp, wearing the old FBI sweatpants that are among the pairs in which Will has cut tail holes for him.

Will sets the book down and turns to him. They're very close now, and Will pushes Hannibal back just a little, to see his face more clearly. "Hannibal," he says, very seriously, "why didn't you tell me that you can read?"

"Myowrrr," he mutters, and Will sighs.

"I'm sure it hasn't been safe before, but it is now. Can you write?" He does his best to pin Hannibal with his stare, but it's hard with cats. Hannibal does squirm a bit, and then trots off to fetch a notepad and pen. He sits at the kitchen table and laboriously prints:

I DIDN'T WANT YOU TO STOP BEING PATIENT WITH ME

Will's heart melts a little as he reads, and he rubs Hannibal's back, something nearly all cats like. Hannibal purrs, and Will says, "I can't deny that I would've made you help me with the paperwork, but that's all. I still would have shown you the restraints before expecting you to wear them, and all the rest."

Hannibal nods, and then slowly rubs his face all over Will's arm and shoulder, purring louder than ever. Will chuckles, and strokes his hair. "I'm going to have to tell the Division that you're literate, but we'll keep being patient with you."

IT'S YOUR PATIENCE I CARE ABOUT, WILL Hannibal writes, and Will can't resist the impulse to hug him. Hannibal purrs, and gently kneads Will's chest, his claws just barely pricking the skin. 

Will chuckles, stroking his hair. "Be careful," he says gently, and Hannibal is careful. "You know," Will says, "I met someone you know today."

"Maow?" Hannibal looks up at him with wide eyes.

"Do you remember Alana?"

Hannibal nods vigorously, looking delighted. He grabs the pen again.

ALANA IS FREE?

"Yeah," Will says. "She is."

Hannibal trills in delight, and dances around the room like a happy kitten. The dogs aren't quite sure what to make of him, but are glad to receive Hannibal's overjoyed affection. Will chuckles, and then really laughs as Hannibal bounds over to hug him, briefly lifting him off of his feet.

"Silly cat," Will says, and taps him on the nose. Hannibal just smiles, and sets him down.

Hannibal's tail is pointed at the ceiling as he follows Will around the kitchen., supervising as Will puts together his first-ever rabbit fricassee. It turns out well, and Hannibal devours his share, purring happily and neatly setting the bones in the bowl Will has put out for the purpose. Will can't help but feel weird eating rabbit the same day he met Alana, but dammit, it's a real rabbit, it's already dead, and it's delicious.

After dinner, Hannibal curls up on Will's bed, purring and turning the covers into a nest. He closes his big yellow eyes and twitches his grey tabby tail, looking entirely too adorable for a cat with his abilities. Will does more of the mountains of paperwork any Division staffer has to deal with, lets the dogs out and back in, and then stretches out beside Hannibal for a while. He has the very faint feline smell of a catperson, but it's clean and pleasant. Winston and a few of the others join them, and Will sighs. He wonders what else Hannibal isn't telling them, but also can't blame him for being secretive.

Will wakes up at four am to see Hannibal sitting in front of his computer, his eyes gleaming green, the tip of his tail twitching. "I thought so!" Will says, sitting up. "Packing a skin in salt isn't in The Joy of Cooking."

"Mmrroow," Hannibal mutters, ears flattening against his head.

"I don't mind if you use it, just be careful about porn sites, they're full of malware."

"Myow," he says, and nods.

Will chuckles. "Mind if I ask what you're looking up?"

Hannibal shakes his head, and carries the laptop over. Will distantly notes his excellent English comprehension, and shifts to give Hannibal room so sit on the edge of the bed. He does, his tail neatly looped across his lap the way cats often do. Will isn't sure what to expect when he looks over Hannibal's shoulder, and is at first baffled and then touched to see that he's looking at histories of clothing, and has a few search results for suits open.

"We've been talking about sending you to the Feral Nation, but you don't have to go," Will says, and Hannibal nods. He opens up Notepad and types: I'm not sure of my plans just yet.

Will nods. "Okay," he says, and gets up for a glass of water. By the time he gets back, Hannibal has stolen his spot. Will pushes him out of it, and he makes a complaining noise but shifts enough for Will to climb into bed behind him. After a moment, Hannibal starts to purr, and keeps purring until the sound lulls Will to sleep.

In the morning, Will makes revised arrangements for Hannibal's entertainment, giving him a list of educational websites and pulling out some of his more informative books. Nothing on murderers. Hannibal will probably read those on his own, but Will isn't going to specifically facilitate it. What Hannibal really needs is a surgical consult about his larynx, but that's not for another three days. When he hopes aloud that Hannibal won't be bored, Hannibal just trills and nuzzles Will's shoulder, tail pointed to the ceiling.


	10. Consultation

Hannibal's consultation isn't until noon, but Will brings him to work in the morning. Not only is it easier, but this gives Hannibal time to see Alana. She's speeding through the legal human tests, but her reaction to the sight of her friend is all rabbit. She leaps into the air and twists her head one way and her body the other, a maneuver that would be dangerous for a fully-human spine. She makes an 180-degree turn in midair and lands on her kitten-heeled shoes with a loud clack that makes her flinch and twitch her ears. Hannibal beams at her, trilling happily and coming close to touch his nose to hers. Alana hugs him tightly, and then starts chattering away, making little hand gestures and watching for Hannibal to return them.

"It's their lab homesign," Margot murmurs to Will, having sidled up next to him.

Will nods. "Thought so."

They have co-opted an unused conference room for this meeting, so Alana and Hannibal end up snuggling down together in the corner, talking in animal noises, signs, and some words from Alana. Margot beams at them, and Will provides a notepad when Alana says that Hannibal wants one, along with a pen and a pencil. Will has to do his own work until the consultation, so he only catches a glimpse of the professional sketches Hannibal is doing. He feels stupid for being surprised at that, and reminds himself to ask Hannibal to draw the guilty humans and missing kemonomimi later.

For now, they have to make their way over to the hospital, where Donald Sutcliffe makes a comprehensive examination of Hannibal's mouth and throat. He's a legal human, his dark grey ears pricked forward, his white-tipped tail twitching with interest as he leans in with a tongue depressor and a flashlight, peering past Hannibal's fangs and down his throat.

"We'll need to do some imaging," Sutcliffe says, "but it looks like you've got most of the right morphology for speech, Hannibal. You might end up with a thick accent, but I'll be shocked if we can't get you speaking."

Hannibal does his best to trill, and Sutcliffe smiles at him, giving him a slow blink. "Yes," he says, "I think we'll have you speaking soon."

They'll have to come back for an MRI, but for now Hannibal can sit in Will's office and study for the legal human tests. Margot and Alana end up joining him, just barely able to fit comfortably. Alana gently grinds her teeth and Hannibal purrs, both of them enjoying the sense of being in a warm burrow with people they can trust. Margot has her own research to do in the interests of setting up a normal life after everything that has happened, and Jack has someone sending her pictures of visiting and qualifying ferals to see if she recognizes either of the kittens or their relatives.

It's hard to part Hannibal and Alana at the end of the day, but Hannibal can't legally spend the night with anyone else, and of course Alana wants to go with Margot. Still, they linger over their goodbyes, and Will feels a bit empty as he drives away, Hannibal curled up in the passenger seat.

"Hey," Will says softly, "you want to pick up something nice to eat?"

Hannibal is beyond amenable to this plan, and Will swings by the small kemonomimi grocery that serves most of the area around his home. It's run by a family of dogs, and the one at the register wags his tail when Will comes in. Like most of the family, his ears and tail are gold, just edged and tipped with black.

"Hi!" he says, with the usual big, canine smile. "Can I help you find anything?"

"We'll just look around," Will says, "but thanks." The dog wags his tail and leaves them to it. Kemonomimi grocery stores always have interesting snacks, and Will browses the dried fruit assortments as Hannibal looks at the dried and frozen fish and meat. At last he finds a jar of salmon roe. It's a little expensive, but Will is glad to get it for him, and it's not as if his own impulse-buy dried strawberries are cheap. Just as the dogman is ringing them up, Hannibal suddenly darts off. For a moment Will thinks he'll have to chase him, but he comes right back with a bag of dandelion-flavored hard candies, ears upright.

"For Alana?" Will asks, and Hannibal nods. "Good idea," Will says, and adds them to the pile.

At home, Will looks up information on MRIs, so that Hannibal will have advance warning that it will be a close and very noisy experience. When Will finds him a video, his tail puffs up with alarm, and he has to watch it several times to get used to it. He glances around, looking for his notepad. Will passes it to him.

WILL YOU BE THERE? he writes.

"Yes," Will says. "It scares a lot of people. I gave a dog one of my dirty shirts to wear, once. It was a great comfort to her." Hannibal nods, and glances at Will's shirt. He smiles. "Yes, you can have one, too," he says, and Hannibal trills. Will chuckles, and lightly pats his face in the feline way, because he really he does like him. Hannibal purrs, and nuzzles Will's shoulder again before padding into the kitchen to serve himself a small dish of salmon roe. He perches on the counter to eat it, purring thunderously, the tip of his tail curling and uncurling with pleasure. Will smiles, pleased to see him so relaxed, and is genuinely touched when he beckons Will over, gesturing for him to have some of the roe.

"Thank you very much," Will says, and dabs a bit onto a piece of toast. He's more familiar with salmon eggs as fish bait, but these have a strong, salmon-brine taste, with the kind of buttery richness associated with other caviar. A little goes a long way, but it's good stuff, and he takes his time over his toast. Near the end of it, he realizes that Hannibal is watching him closely, and isn't sure how to feel about that.


	11. Surgery

When the time comes, the MRI goes fairly well. There's a light breeze blowing through the tube, which helps a lot with claustrophobia. Of course, like most cats Hannibal has something closer to claustrophilia. The tube doesn't bother him at all, but he is very grateful for noise-canceling cat-style headphones and his choice of music. Nonverbal kemononmimi can write down their preferences or sign them, but most lab types haven't heard much music and need to use the tablet, where they can have a sample of a representative track. 

Somehow Will isn't surprised that Hannibal selects opera. Since he's staying in the room for moral support, he's wearing the same gown and institutional pants as Hannibal, and has his own set of protective earmuffs because of how godawful loud the machinery is. Will doesn't get music, he gets fucking paperwork, because he is part of the Division and this is his fate.

During the breaks the technician checks in, and Hannibal always gives an affirmative trill when asked if he's all right. The whole thing only takes about half an hour, and Hannibal's tail is a little brushed up when he emerges, but he really does seem to be all right. Will pats his shoulder and ushers him out of the room. The results won't come in for a few hours, so they go back to the office. Margot is on the bench by Will's door, killing time while Alana takes yet another aptitude test. There are so many, written and practical. 

Today poor Alana is being carefully alarmed again and again, to make sure that her lapine instincts won't make her freeze in traffic or anything else really counterproductive. It's necessary, but pretty hard to bear, and Will is glad to let Margot in so Hannibal can write and sign all about his adventures. Out of the side of his eye, Will sees that some of the basics, like 'mine,' are the same in Hannibal's lexicon as in official KSL, but others are impossible for him to parse. It's all much clearer to Margot, who has learned a lot of the signs from Alana.

At long last Alana can join them. Her eyes are wide and her ears are laid back, but she seems to be all right. Beverly is walking with her, because of course rabbits get an escort after being frightened so much, and softly telling her how well she did. "Honestly," she's saying as she ushers Alana into the office, "some of those noises scare _me_."

Alana laughs. "It was pretty bad, but everyone was kind." 

Margot gets up and hugs her, taking care to move smoothly and more slowly than Will can tell she wants to. Rabbit don't like to be attacked, even affectionately, and Alana sighs and clings to her a little. Beverly leaves, seeing the situation is well in hand, just waving to Will. He waves back, and then dims his office lights as Margot soothes Alana. Once she's a little calmer, Hannibal goes and tenderly pats her face, making her smile.

"I'm okay, Hannibal," she says, "just tired."

Having their flight response jarred so much takes it out of rabbits, and Will has one of the Division's camp beds brought up so she can stretch out for a while. Hannibal and Margot sit by her, murmuring and gesturing. When she wakes up again, Hannibal gives her the dandelion candies, beaming at her pleasure in them.

Margot and Alana return to their safehouse long before Will can leave for the evening, and Hannibal appropriates the cot, curling up into a happy ball and purring in his sleep. He rouses quickly when Will gently prods him awake to for the drive home, and to hear his MRI results. As expected, Hannibal is an excellent candidate for laryngeal surgery, and is eager to go through with it, even though he knows he'll hate it. They schedule it as soon as they can, and pick up the pre-operative instructions on their way home. It's just the usual for general anesthesia, no food for at least twelve hours before, arrive early to give everything time to kick in, and so on. Hannibal studies them all night long, and searches for his procedure on the internet even though Will has told him that it will probably just make him nervous.

The days leading up to Hannibal's surgery pass like the others have, in Will's normal work schedule and long talks with Alana and Margot, but at last the time comes. Unlike real animals, kemonomimi understand why they can't have any dinner, but they still complain. Hannibal makes resentful little noises as Will guiltily crams a sandwich into his mouth.

"I have to drive us," he says, "I can't fast with you, I might get dizzy." 

He probably wouldn't, but there's no sense taking chances. Hannibal grumbles, but distracts himself with books and with batting around the toy mouse Will got him on his first day. In the morning he watches the dogs eat and makes an unhappy noise in his throat, ears comically flattened and tail drooping. Will does his best not to laugh.

"Your throat will be sore," he says, "but when you're done, we can have some fish soup, okay?"

Hannibal manages a half-hearted trill, and lets Will herd him out to the car. Will cannot help but think of taking his dogs to the vet, even if Hannibal is a lot more cooperative and can manage the radio on his own. He lays his ears back when they walk into the clinic, and demands that Will not leave his side, so he has to scrub up and wear a gown too, and help the nurses to get Hannibal's tail bagged up, and to get his cap on around the reflexive flicking of his ears.

Even with a sedative, Hannibal is still nervous, and Will is allowed to stick around for the induction of anesthesia, holding Hannibal's hand. Lab-made kemonomimi are always given a lot of leeway in these things, since almost all of them have experienced some kind of medical abuse. The team speaks to Hannibal very softly, and assure him that everything will be all right. At least one of the surgical nurses is a dogwoman, the presence of another kemonomimi very reassuring.


	12. Recovery

Once Hannibal is well and truly out, Will has nothing to do but lurk in the waiting room and try not to fret too much. It really is a simple procedure, and Hannibal really should be fine. That 0.002% chance of a healthy cat dying under anesthesia keeps haunting him, as does the possibility that Hannibal has an undetected bad heart or other problem.

Mercifully, tuning a voice box doesn't take very long, as surgical procedures go. In an hour, Will can meet Hannibal in the recovery room. He looks awful, throat wrapped in a white bandage, his eyes hazy. He's drooling a little, and purring in the way a sick or injured cat does, like he's trying to make himself feel better and it's not working. Will sits down beside him and strokes his hair, murmuring that it's over and that he's safe. Hannibal weakly licks Will's hand, presenting an absolutely pitiful picture, and as soon as he can rise on wobbly legs, he's trying to drag Will out to the car. They give him some water and make him stay for another ten minutes, but as soon as he can he's curled up in Will's passenger seat, wrapped in both the blankets Will brought.

"Better?" Will asks, and Hannibal holds out his sign for 'yes.' "That's good," Will says, and heads for home. Hannibal is too listless to mess with the radio, but Will finds him some opera, and Hannibal manages an extremely rusty purr.

At home Hannibal curls into a ball in the exact center of Will's bed, buried under both the extra blankets and all the usual ones. Will and the dogs are quiet, in deference to his misery, even as Will works on a pot of fish soup. He makes it as flavorful and creamy as he can, carefully shredding the fish to keep the concoction smooth. Just when he's wondering if he should wake Hannibal, he feels warm breath on his neck and jumps.

"Jesus, Hannibal!"

Hannibal just trills, leaning forward to sniff at the pot. Will smiles. "It's just done. Sit down and I'll feed you."

Hannibal sits at the kitchen table, eagerly awaiting his bowl of soup. He purrs when Will sets it down in front of him, and keeps purring as he devours every last bit of it. It is pretty good, but Will only needs a bowl and a half, while Hannibal has three and then goes right back to sleep. Will divides the small remainder between the dogs, a spoonful for each of them, and then settles in to tie flies for a while.

Over the rest of the week, Hannibal makes leaps and bounds in his recovery. Sutcliffe declares the surgery a very pretty job at Hannibal's follow up appointment, and writes out their referral to Bedelia Du Maurier, an expert in kemonomimi speech. Will is still technically on flex-time, so he can go with Hannibal to meet Dr. Du Maurier. She's another legal human, and one of the only mousepeople Will has ever met. Her delicate, white-furred ears turn toward them as they come in, standing out of carefully curled blonde hair. It's probably at least touched up at her age, but it's a very good job. 

She greets them in her little mouse voice, lower than Will would have expected, and spends this first appointment getting to know Hannibal and giving him some guides on lip and tongue positions to make certain sounds. It's pretty weird to see a mouse giving a cat speech therapy, but given Hannibal's friendship with Alana, Will isn't surprised that he seems to have no trouble listening to a herbivore. Well, mostly herbivorous, anyway, mice need a little meat for optimum health. Hannibal's tail twitches with interest, and after they leave he pores over his worksheets, practicing his mouth positions in the rearview mirror.

While Hannibal waits for his voice box to heal, he starts a collection of sketches and a list of names of the human laboratory staff and of their customers. The drawings are very good, and Alana corroborates everything, often fighting to keep herself from stamping, while Hannibal plasters his ears to his skull and lashes his tail. Two out of five of the buyers are dead, but there's a lab staff of ten to find, and only six of twenty kemonomimi accounted for: Alana, Hannibal, the two children who went to the feral nation, and a pair of scared puppies who have turned up through a Division office in another city. 

Hannibal does drawings of the missing, as well as the guilty, and tries to keep back a low, groaning growl, the sound of a sick, miserable cat. It bursts out of him when he completes the last drawing, though, and a tear lands on the edge of the paper. Will puts a hand on his shoulder, and then stares at the drawing, because he knows that girl.

"Hannibal," he says as quietly as he can when it's this urgent, "is that your sister?"

Hannibal nods, and Will drops down to crouch on the floor by his chair. "Hannibal, I saw that girl alive! She was hurt and scared, but we were helping her, and she's probably all right somewhere."

Hannibal stares at him, eyes huge. Will jumps up and calls Jack, demanding documentation on that terrible raid seven years ago. He gets it, piles and piles of horror, but at least now there's a reason to sift through it and find the girl. Hannibal's little sister, Mischa. Pediatric rehabilitation is its own thing, so Will had lost sight of her early on, but he finds her again, all yellow eyes and terror. Hannibal starts crying again over her intake photo, where she looks so small and so brutalized, but now that they know who they're looking for they can find a much more recent one where she's strong and healthy, eyes bright and tabby tail up, standing near the border of the Feral Nation and holding a dead bird, her hands and face bloody and beautiful. Hannibal trills and cries some more and rolls around on the floor, and Will leaves him to it, repacking the file before he can look at any of the rest of it.

Finding an individual kemonomimi in the Feral Nation can be hard, but Will puts out the call for a grey tabby named Mischa, about twenty-one by now. The ferals have representatives, people who can comprehend human concerns but prefer to live wild, and they'll be alerted by radio to start looking and asking around. Lab escapees looking for missing family tend to garner everyone's sympathy, so Will has no doubt that most of those who hear will help.


	13. Bunny Girls And Home Cooking

Hannibal is impatient to speak, but does his best to not exert his throat. For three weeks he hardly even purrs, sipping soothing teas and listening endlessly to English pronunciation guides. He takes a lot of walks with the dogs, and Will sometimes wakes up in the night and hears Hannibal padding around on some inscrutable errand of his own.

At last, on a Wednesday morning, Will shuffles up and feeds the dogs, smiling to see Hannibal at the table with a cup of tea and one of Dr. Du Maurier's worksheets. "Morning, Hannibal."

"Ggyood murrning, Will," Hannibal says, and Will stops.

"Don't hurt yourself, Hannibal," he says, unable to keep from smiling, and Hannibal smiles back, purring, his ears perked up and pointed toward Will.

"Ai yam bein veri cahrrrfful," he says, and Will has to admit that with a feline accent _that_ thick, Hannibal must still be babying the equipment.

"Okay," Will says. "Breakfast?"

Hannibal trills delightedly, and helps Will cook. He doesn't come to the office today, because Alana's tests are done and she won't be there, either, resting up with Margot after so much mental and emotional exertion in such a short time. Will feels much better about leaving Hannibal now that he knows that all of his meager entertainment options are open to him, not just the easiest and most dog-related ones.

During a break at work, Will texts Hannibal's phone. _you all right?_

 _yes_ Hannibal responds, _may i cook us some of your frozen fish?_

Will blinks, unsure just how much Hannibal has figured out about cooking. Still, Will has plenty, he might as well let Hannibal experiment. _sure_ he sends, _the packages are dated, try to find an old one_

Hannibal's response is just a thumbs-up and a smiley face, and Will chuckles, pocketing his phone again. Today he has a couple of nonverbal feral assessments, but these are just a couple of rabbitgirls coming in from the Feral Nation to visit their sister, who lives as a pet. Their ears are fluffier than Alana's, and grey-brown instead of black. Their sister's file photo shows that she has some white spots, and the milder expression that pets usually have. Ferals are watchful and a little sharp, and Will enjoys their company. 

This pair are pert and funny without words, and show themselves more than intelligent and courageous enough to navigate the human world. They'd still be able to make their visit if they weren't, but this way they can just dip bus fare from the feral fund, and take the red line over to their sister's home. They can't read, but they carry color-coded feral response cards, so they can answer yes or no questions, and they know precisely where their stop is. All the same, Will calls the sister's human family to let them know precisely when to expect their guests. Will always worries more about the herbivores. He just can't shake it, even though rogue rabbits can sometimes be even worse than rogue cats.

It's a profound relief to get a call back in forty minutes, to say that the girls have just arrived, running at rabbit speeds from the bus stop to the yard, where they and their sister are now dancing in their delight. Will can see it in his head, and smiles. It's moments like this that keep him from leaving the Division to fix boat motors, and he knows it. He wishes everyone well, and lets the good feeling carry him through a pile of paperwork. The stuff never ends, the material of his own dry, whispery hell, but it always feels less Sisyphean when he knows that he has actually helped his clients.

On the drive home, it starts to rain, and it's heavy enough that when Will pulls into the driveway he bolts into the house, still half-soaked by the time he gets there. The dogs are ecstatic to see him, and a little damp, themselves. The house is warm and bright with a huge fire in the fireplace, and the air is perfumed with baking fish. Hannibal is in the kitchen, mixing something that looks like Hollandaise sauce. Will is a bit surprised at his ambition, but things look promising so far. Hannibal trills delightedly and comes over to gently pat Will's face in the feline way.

"Hhaalo, Will," he purrs, and Will chuckles, nuzzling into his hand a little.

"Hey."

"Cchhaange yao're clothesss," Hannibal says, and Will nods, standing up with a few last pats for the dogs.

By the time Will has toweled off and found some clean pants that don't have a hole for Hannibal's tail, he emerges from his room to find the table set. There's a whole baked trout, sauce for it, some kind of salad, and steamed broccoli. Hannibal gestures for him to come and sit down, and Will does. He blinks, considering the spread before him.

"I didn't even know I had broccoli," he says.

"Yaoou didn't," Hannibal says, "but the kemmmonnommimmi grrrocerrry will mmmake sssmall deliveriesss on credit. Aai haave the rrrreceipt," he adds, bringing the half-loaf of good bread from the kitchen and sitting down with Will.

"I'm sure some broccoli will fit into my budget," Will says, as Hannibal serves them each a portion of fish.

"The brrroccoli, catnip tea, annnd a few drrried ssstrrrawberries for yaou," Hannibal says, and Will smiles.

"Thanks, Hannibal," Will says. "It's nice to be thought of."

Whatever Hannibal does or doesn't know about cooking, dinner is delicious. Hannibal makes happy catnoises when Will tells him so, and then goes to take a nap on the couch while Will does the dishes. There's paperwork Will could be doing, but instead he sprawls on the floor by the fire and reads, soothed by Hannibal purring in his sleep, and the breathing of the pack around him. At the back of his mind, Will wonders how the quiet of himself and the dogs will feel after Hannibal leaves. He's pretty sure that it will be heavier than it should be.


	14. Real Clothes And Pediatric Assessments

Before Hannibal takes his aptitude tests, he insists on real clothes. Will can hardly blame him, and spends a very trying afternoon helping Hannibal choose a suit and some more casual things to wear around the house. He reminds himself over and over that Hannibal has never been shopping, and that liking the activity is not actually a moral failing. Will carries the bags and sits and waits by dressing rooms like a long-suffering husband as Hannibal discovers the joys of real kemonomimi clothing. 

Much like kemonomimi grocery stores, kemonomimi clothing outlets carry a great deal of variety, and attract some human shoppers, as well. After all, shirts and shoes are pretty much the same across species. Even the bird types, rarest of the rare, usually just need sleeveless tops to keep the feathers on their arms from being bent into configurations that are itchy or painful.

Because kemonomimi shirts can actually fit Will, Hannibal won't let Will leave this store without a particular blue button-down that he claims really brings out Will's eyes. It's very soft, which is what matters the most to Will, and he carefully pays for it with his own money. The taxpaying public is stuck with Hannibal's bill, but it's not so bad. Semiferals in need get a discount, much like some stores will give homeless people a break on interview outfits.

The cashier is a catgirl, with wide blue eyes and golden tabby ears, and she compliments Hannibal's taste and wishes him luck. He thanks her, feline accent still strong but not as obtrusive as it was at first. She reaches across the register to give Hannibal a friendly pat on the face, and scrawls something on the receipt before tucking it into his bag.

Outside in the car, Hannibal examines the receipt and laughs softly. "What's up?" Will asks, pulling out of the parking lot and trying not to be too obviously happy that they're finally done shopping.

"It'ss a phoan numberrr," Hannibal says, and Will chuckles.

"Think you're going to call her?"

Hannibal's tail twitches thoughtfully, where it's draped between his legs for travel. "Prrrobably not. She is attrrractive, though."

"Very cute," Will agrees, merging into traffic.

"I'm a little busssy at prrrresssent," Hannibal says, and Will sighs.

"It's true, you are. Look at the bright side, you already know how to read."

"Mmmotherrr taught me," Hannibal says softly. "She ssssaid it was ev'rrrything to being huuman."

"We've gotten better about literacy or the lack thereof, but yeah," Will says, "it helps a lot." 

The old aptitude tests had been almost entirely written. There's a whole wave of ferals moving back into civilization now that they're better able to prove an independent human level of understanding, and others coming out of supported residences they don't really need to stay in. Of course, with literacy comes the need to do the reading, and Hannibal spends days on preliminary material and practice tests before coming to the office with Will again.

The Division has a whole group of people devoted to helping kemonomimi prepare for and pass the aptitude tests, and on the whole, they're a decent and dedicated bunch. Will knows that he's leaving Hannibal in good hands, but it's still hard. At least Hannibal doesn't seem nervous. He greets the receptionist politely, and sits down to wait in a very human manner, straightening his tie. Will waits with him, and is beyond relieved to see Jimmy come out to collect him.

"Heard you might be worried about this one," he says, and actually winks at Will, who just smiles back. Hannibal rises and shakes hands with Jimmy, and then follows him into the maze of pre-test offices. Will does his best not to stand there forlornly and watch them go.

At least Will has good news waiting for him in his office. Alana's expedited application has been approved, all of her test scores close to perfect. Below the official email is a personal one from Margot, thanking him and everyone else for taking such good care of Alana. Will isn't very good at this kind of thing, but he sends a congratulatory message in return.

Will is grateful for the day's first client, a nervous dogwoman who doesn't want anyone treating her nonverbal son like he isn't legally human. Her human husband sits next to her, letting her lean on him and occasionally petting her upright ears. Distressed dogpeople are like real dogs, and tend to be soothed by physical contact with their pack. The son is in the Division's daycare center, with staff kids and little kemonomimi with no other safe place to be, and after looking over the file and talking to his parents, Will picks up the Pediatric Nonverbal Assessment Kit and heads down to meet him.

The daycare center is a bright, clean, friendly sort of place, as it should be. The walls are pastel yellow, and covered in kids's drawings and other art. Today the central playroom is being monitored by Peter Bernardone, and he smiles when he sees Will.

"H-hey," he says, and stands in the presence of a lady. "You, you h-here for Kyle?"

"We are," the dogwoman says, wagging a bit, and lightly claps her hands, the sound drawing a little dogboy out of a pile of them that are gently tussling, the way the dogchildren almost always do when enough of them are together. He's pretty cute, with chocolate brown fur on this ears and tail that matches his father's hair instead of his mother's blue dog parts. He's wearing a t-shirt and shorts with high-top sneakers, and after giving his parents the usual effusive and joyous hugs of a dogchild, he turns to Will with a friendly wag.

Will smiles at him. "Good morning. You know why your mom brought you here?" 

He shakes his head, tail still wagging. Will chuckles, and offers him his hand. He takes it with the easy trust of most dogchildren his age, and Will explains the assessment as they walk to an interview room. Not a plexiglass-divided one like the one where Will had first met Hannibal, just a normal space that used to be a conference room. Kyle looks around curiously, and then sits down and pays attention like a good boy. Will can already tell that Kyle is quite sharp, and the tests only confirm it. Even if laryngeal surgery can't let him speak, he clearly understands symbols and would be able to make good use of writing and KSL. He's only four now, and many kemonomimi children are slow to speak. With these results, Kyle is in no danger of being shunted into a supported residence or off to the Feral Nation against his inclinations.


	15. Pre-Test

By the time Will can check in on Hannibal again, he has almost forgotten to worry about him. He wouldn't even bother to take a lunch if Peter's mother didn't always pack him more lunch than he can eat. He comes to Will's office with a Tupperware half full of salad and a paper bag with a few strips of soy jerky and some burdock hard candies. Born to a rabbit, Peter often eats like one, and Will smiles at the food on offer.

"You sure you don't need all of this?" he asks.

"I s-swear, Ma thinks I'm still, still growing," Peter says, settling into a chair. "Th-that or she kn-knows, knows I work with a g-guy who doesn't, doesn't f-feed himself properly."

"Could be," Will admits. "Hell, Hannibal has been moved to cook for me."

Peter chuckles. "He g-getting a-along, along with the dogs all right?"

"Yeah," Will says, nibbling on the jerky. Stuff marketed to rabbits doesn't try as hard to taste like meat, so it always turns out better. "He's definitely a housecat at heart, I wouldn't be surprised if he goes for legal humanity even if he wants to live feral. I mean, he wanted clothes of his own and picked a suit and tie."

Peter chuckles. "S-sounds pretty h-human to me," he agrees, and glances at Will's wall clock. "I should get back, get back to the k-kids," he says. "You kn-know where to leave the d-dish."

"I do," Will says, and thanks him again for the food before turning his attention back to all this high-priority paperwork that he has to do before he can allow himself to go check on Hannibal.

There's a pet dog who has been terribly neglected and needs a new placement, an abused cat in the same situation, a few applications to shift from being a pet to living in a supported residence, and some more that are for going in the other direction. Some of Hannibal's missing labmates have also turned up, and Will brings the file with him when he goes up to the pre-test offices to see Hannibal.

Jimmy had been able to come to meet him in a small display of favoritism, but when it comes to the important stuff, Hannibal is like any other client, and as such has been palmed off onto the newly-minted Agent Starling, a lovely little redhead with the remains of a West Virginia accent in her voice and a diamond hard sparkle in her eyes. Will likes her immediately, and Hannibal clearly agrees, purring, ears forward to listen, because she's deep into an explanation of one of the practical tests for cats. Cats get a lot of those, because they have to be tested for rabbit-like skittishness, as well as for prey drive and aggression.

"They won't put you with an actual child until much later in the process," Starling is saying as Will walks up, "and there will be a guy a holding a tranq on you the whole time." Hannibal blinks his big yellow eyes, and Starling smiles. "I mean a tranquilizer gun. We'll test you first, make sure you won't have a bad reaction in case we have to use it or there's some kind of crazy accident and you get a hit without deserving it."

"I ssee," Hannibal says, the purr still in his voice, and Starling smiles at him.

"They'll start you on domestic animals," she says, "but you'll probably be expedited since Agent Graham has dogs."

"I like them verry much," Hannibal assures her, and then hops up to greet Will, trilling joyfully as he rubs his cheek along Will's.

"Hey," Will says softly, rubbing his back and then gently pushing him away. He keeps purring, and lightly nuzzles Will's hand as he introduces himself to Starling.

She smiles. "I had a feeling you were Agent Graham," she says, and rises to shake hands with him. "Clarice Starling."

"Jimmy mentioned you," Will says, smiling down at her. "Has Hannibal been giving you any trouble?"

"Not at all," she says, and Hannibal trills delightedly, tail swishing from side to side.

"I've got good news," Will tells Hannibal, and his eyes brighten at the sight of the folder in Will's hand. "We found some of the others," Will says, and hands the file to Hannibal, whose wide eyes fill with happy tears as he drops into his seat again to peruse it. Two of the rabbits have been living as rescued pets, unable to give their histories and only discovered through Hannibal's sketches. Further, there are three cats in the feral nation, a set of brothers where two are true ferals and one has enough understanding of human concerns to act as their spokesman. They're part of the Shadow Ridge colony, and apparently doing fairly well.

Starling doesn't rate a real office yet, and her cubicle only really has room for herself and one kemonomimi, but there's a free conference room nearby. The three of them adjourn to it to let Hannibal trill and chase his tail in a circle, barely resisting the urge to roll on the floor in his joy and mess up his new suit.

Once Hannibal is a bit calmer, though still wet-eyed and purring, they talk over the aptitude tests together, and the crash courses on normal human behavior that Hannibal is going to need. At least he doesn't seem intimidated. Will has a feeling that Hannibal will learn more about his instructors than they do about him.

Hannibal makes an elegant bow to Starling after she hands him some documents and wishes him luck, and she laughs, making a neat curtsey despite her slacks. Will chuckles, and leads the way to the car, gently guiding Hannibal around hazards because he insists on reading and walking at the same time. He insists on reading in the car until he starts to groan quietly, and closes the folder.

"Yeah," Will says, "you get carsick when you do that."

"I ssee," Hannibal groans, and closes his eyes, slumping back in his seat as Will scans the airwaves for opera.


	16. Symbols, Signifiers, And Literacy

From their earliest moments together Will has known that Hannibal is a fast learner, but the next three weeks are an education. Kemonomimi have to learn about their legal rights, about the various human cultures in their area and in the nation as a whole, and the meaning of human symbols like stop signs. Will is pretty sure that Hannibal already knows most of this stuff, but now he has to prove it, and to pick up the right human ways to express that knowledge. Every day Will drops Hannibal off at the evaluation offices and sends up a little not really a prayer that he'll be all right.

Hannibal's mother may have ensured his literacy, but it had to be done covertly, and as such, Hannibal has not had the hours of practice writing that usually goes with being taught to read. He spends a lot of time with the literacy people at the Division, filling worksheets with his laborious scrawl, but the instructors don't really have much else to do beyond helping Hannibal evaluate his practice exercises. He passes the practical exam assessment with flying colors, even the typing portion.

When Hannibal's 98% on the SSLE (Symbols, Signifiers and Literacy Examination) comes in, Alana does her little leaping dance of joy all around the room, and Hannibal purrs like a motorbike, rubbing his face all over Will. It's more than a little embarrassing, but Will can hardly mind. 

He hugs Hannibal tightly and then pulls back to look into his yellow eyes. "I knew you could do it," he says, and Hannibal beams at him.

"Tthhank you," he says, tail swishing with delight.

Hannibal's speech therapy is concurrent with the testing process, and his feline accent is rapidly disappearing as he applies that same ferocious intellect and determination to the homework Bedelia gives him. Will misses it a little, but of course people are the way they are, and always take kemonomimi more seriously when they sound completely human. Now Hannibal nuzzles Will one last time before breaking away to accept Alana's joyous hugs and Margot's quieter but just as sincere congratulations.

Will isn't sure how to feel when Margot offers to take them out to dinner to celebrate, but Hannibal is so curious to learn more about restaurants, and Will trusts him not to get them into trouble. Besides, he can tell that it would mean a lot to Alana, and he likes her, so he lets himself be talked into sushi. It's a good way to feed a cat and a rabbit at the same table, even if Will does feel slightly awkward about letting Margot pay for it. She's apparently flush now, because she has been quietly pregnant this entire time, making her eligible to inherit the Verger fortune to hold in trust for the baby.

Will wonders who the father is, and then knows when Margot puts her hand over Alana's and gives her a particularly gooey smile. Underground egg scrambling is pretty easy to get these days, and Will can only hope that Margot found one of the more skilled back-alley genengineers. However it turns out, they'll love it, Will can tell that much, and that's what really matters. Hannibal is so delighted that he's actually distracted from his sashimi for a whole five minutes, and Alana freezes for a moment, so happy in a place so inappropriate for dancing for joy that she has to take the other rabbit extreme.

"So I guess you don't want any of this raw salmon," Will says, and Margot chuckles.

"Pretty much," she says, picking up another of the mixed vegetable rolls she's sharing with Alana. 

Both of them sort of glow through the rest of the meal, and Hannibal is nearly as radiant. To a lot of lab escapees, every kemonomimi born of love in freedom feels like a personal triumph, and Hannibal seems to be no exception, along with simply being happy for a friend's happiness. They linger for so long that Hannibal dozes off on the drive home. He curls into a tiny ball, purring in his sleep. Will has to admit, to himself at least, that Hannibal is adorable. When Will pulls up to the house and stops the car, Hannibal blinks and yawns, his big yellow eyes hazy.

"We're home," Will says softly, before he can think better of it. 

Hannibal smiles up at him, and sits up so that he can lean across the gearshift and rub his face along Will's shoulder, so Will has to assume that he's not offended. In fact, he seems delighted with the idea, and Will knows that if Mischa doesn't turn up to claim him, that Hannibal can stay here as long as he wants to. For now, he follows the sleepy cat up his front steps, and unlocks the door, letting the dogs out to greet them as if they've been gone for years.

After the dogs are taken care of, Will changes into pajama bottoms and Hannibal goes upstairs for a moment to reappear in a pair of little red boxer-briefs that make Will have to reconsider his whole position on not being a kemonomimi freak. The realization has been creeping up on him with habituation to Hannibal's feline beauty, and now he does his best not to take his irritation out on him. It helps to actually be tired. If his goodnight is a little gruff, it's not actually rude, and soon Will is curled up in his bed, pretending to be asleep. He may be tired, but he can't help trying to figure out when things changed on him, and that keeps him up for a while longer. 

Will slides into a dream that would probably be wet if he was any younger, and grimaces at himself when he wakes up. Morning wood is pretty typical for Will, but he can't pretend this isn't connected to the dream. At least it's early, and he can take his time in the shower. After the first few strokes, Will gives up on not thinking about catmen, and by the end he's thinking of the one he lives with, in glorious Technicolor. Fuck. He sighs, and watches the water blast his semen down the drain, a bit repulsed by it as always. Especially this time. Will scrubs himself thoroughly and emerges to find Hannibal cooking breakfast. At least he's fully clothed.

"Good morning, Will!" he chirps, and Will has to smile.


	17. Reunions And Departures

Encounter testing is always more nerve-wracking for Will than the SSLE. A kemonomimi can be capable of all the literacy stuff and still bomb their instinctual reactivity and encounter tests. It won't be so bad if Hannibal does, Will guesses, since he at least has family in the Feral Nation and a human willing to keep him. The thought of sheltering Hannibal as a pet makes Will feel more than a little sick, and he does his best not to grimace as it flickers across his mind. It's not as if Hannibal could even see it, but it's a matter of principle. 

On the other side of one-way glass, Hannibal is trying not to look amused at the crying baby doll he finds himself confronted with. He regards it for a moment, then sits down and blinks at it, giving it a gentle pat on the face and then scooping it up. He holds it correctly, supporting the head, and does a reasonable job of soothing the thing, its automated cry eventually stopping.

"Really?" Hannibal says, when a staffer comes to collect the doll. He holds it out disdainfully, one eyebrow raised.

"I know," the staffer says, "but we didn’t get an expedition order for you, so here we are."

Hannibal rolls his eyes and seems to look right through the glass at Will, whose fault this definitely is. "I'll just have to do my best," Hannibal says, and Will does his best not to smile.

There are a lot of encounter tests, but Hannibal is very good at all of them. He patiently works his way up through the list, taking breaks to be startled out of his skin by flashing lights and loud noises and giant, hissing puffs of compressed air. The first one of those makes him jump three feet in the air and land with enormous eyes, ears pinned flat, and his tail puffed to four times its usual size, but he stands his ground, not running, hiding, or attacking his panic. That's a pass, since most humans hate this one. Every time after Hannibal is ready for it, and just scowls and flattens his ears, and Will is so proud of him he almost can't stand it.

Even so, Will can't help but be tense when it's time for Hannibal to meet up with an actual human child. He is technically a maneater, and a sudden urge to try to the veal can still blow everything. Cats are impulsive, and Will's heart is in his mouth as the kid crosses the floor to Hannibal on chubby legs. She's a fearless little thing, on loan from a cat mother, and toddles right up to Hannibal to greet him and then demand his help with some very important coloring.

In the end, Hannibal is certified as capable of controlling his instincts at a level compatible with legal humanity. He takes the news with equanimity, just purring and taking his papers with a regal nod, and acts almost comically human for the next hour and a half. Then word comes from the feral nation that Mischa is alive and well and on her way to civilization to collect her brother, and the does some feline dance of joy before flopping onto the floor to roll around in ecstasy, purring louder than Will has ever heard him. Will chuckles, and leaves him to it.

There isn't much red tape left for feral visitors, and within three days Mischa can come bounding into Will's office to throw her arms around her brother, both of them purring and rubbing their faces all over each other before starting a long conversation in their old labsign. Mischa can talk, but she hasn't had anything like Hannibal's amount of practice, to say nothing of surgery and speech therapy. She knows KSL, but Hannibal isn't fluent yet, and this gives them some privacy. There are a few moments when Will is sure that they're talking about him, and after a while of catching up, Mischa blinks lovingly at Will, and gently pats his face.

"Tthhhaaaahhnnkk yyyrrrouuu," she says, and Will smiles.

"No problem," he says. 

Naturally, Mischa comes home with them in the evening. She's fascinated by all the human things around her, and laughs at the sight of the dogs, surging outside to greet them. They beam at her, snuffling and wagging, always happy to have company. She pets each one lovingly, and asks Will all of their names. After that, she bounds into the kitchen to see how humans make food, watching in fascination as Hannibal cooks for the three of them, using signs to explain every step of the way. Christ, Will is gonna miss him. The feeling comes over him in a bittersweet wave, and he escapes upstairs, making sure that there are plenty of blankets in the guest bedroom, and a sleeping bag. Catpeople often sleep looped around each other like real cats, but someone might need the floor.

By the time Will gets back downstairs, Hannibal has the food situation mostly under control, and is showing Mischa everything in the fridge. Will chuckles, and calls to Hannibal that they're welcome to anything they find. Hannibal thanks him, and things really are cozy as Will settles in to do some paperwork. Soon he'll have to haul in more firewood, but they're all right for now. It'll be good to have a project when Hannibal is gone.

Dinner is companionable, and afterward Will ties flies and tries not to think too hard about tomorrow. He goes to bed before the cats do, and wakes up hours later in the dark, because something is not just hopping onto his bed, but actually lifting the covers to slide in beside him. After this much time around Hannibal, Will knows the weight of him, and his faint, feline scent.

"Lettin' Mischa sleep alone?" Will mumbles.

"She knows where I am," Hannibal says, and cuddles close. "I'm going to miss you," he says, and Will sighs, offering no resistance as Hannibal wraps his arms around him, pulling him back against his chest.

"Yeah," Will admits, and wraps his arms over Hannibal's. "I'm going to miss you a lot."

"I'll visit," Hannibal says, and puts an open hand over Will's heart. He rubs gentle circles on the sensitive skin, and Will shivers. Hannibal nuzzles the naked spot behind Will's ear and then takes the sensitive rim of it between his sharp teeth for just a moment. Will turns in his arms and will later have to admit that the kiss is definitely his idea.


	18. Purr

Hannibal has been gone for over three months, and Will is holding up pretty well. He may be haunted by the memory of Hannibal's warm weight in his arms and constantly replaying that rough-tongued, purring kiss, but his work hasn't suffered much. Will is too responsible to let his goddamn dopey _feelings_ get in his way, even if he does have to duck into the bathroom to cry when Hannibal leaves a message with one of the representatives to thank Will for everything, and to report that he and Mischa are doing well.

Will is so deeply enmeshed in pretending to be all right that he's shocked at his own response when Hannibal calls him. He's sitting at his desk and reminding himself that the dogs need him, that he has to drag himself home soon, when his ringing phone makes him flinch in surprise.

"Hello?" he says, sounding hoarse and exhausted to his own ears. Maybe Beverly is right, and he should take some time off.

"Hello, Will," Hannibal says, and Will lets out some desperate little noise. His heart is pounding and he wonders if he's going to collapse right here.

"Hannibal! Are you are all right? Where are you?"

"A gas station on my way to your house," Hannibal says, purring faintly under the words. "You said I was welcome at any time."

"You are," Will says, terrible visions of trouble in the Feral Nation dancing in his head, "but are you all right?"

"Will, I'm not fleeing from anything," he says, purring a little louder. "I just want to see you again."

"...Oh. Okay." Will blushes, and feels like an idiot. His hands are shaking. "Are you close by?"

"Yes," Hannibal says, and Will can hear his smile. "I'll see you soon," he says, and hangs up.

By the time Will gets home, speeding all the way, Hannibal is there. He's sitting on the porch with the dogs, wearing a crisp suit and tie. There's a little notch in one of his ears now, and his hair has been bleached even lighter by the sun and his skin tanned a few shades darker, but otherwise he doesn't look a bit like a catman who has been running feral for three months. He grins at Will and is purring thunderously when he finally manages to wade through the dogs to wrap his arms around Will. The purring only intensifies as Will clings to him, and he rubs his face all over Will's head and shoulders.

"There," he murmurs, "now you're properly mine again." He kisses Will's forehead and then his mouth, as if they have spent no time apart, cradling the back of Will's head with one hand. He tastes like mint toothpaste, and Will is touched to think of him scrubbing his fangs for his benefit. He shudders as Hannibal pushes that rough tongue into his mouth, just as bold as he was last time. Will trembles and melts against him a little, clutching at the back of his jacket, even though he knows Hannibal will be annoyed at the wrinkles later. For now, he tows Will into the house like he's the one who owns the place, and presses him up against the wall, biting the crook of his neck. Will groans and presses his face to Hannibal's shoulder, struggling to collect himself just a little.

"The dogs," Will mutters, and Hannibal hisses, but steps back, letting Will corral the pack upstairs. By the time Will gets back, Hannibal has stripped, and is rolling around on Will's bed, presumably to make it smell like himself. Sprawled out like this, he really is beautiful, and Will pauses at the base of the stairs, just watching him for a long moment. Hannibal looks up at him, yellow eyes bright and more than a little wild.

"Come to me," he purrs, and Will shivers, joining him on the bed and letting Hannibal undress him, taking much more care with each piece of clothing than Will ever would. 

"So pretty," he purrs, and kisses each new expanse of revealed skin before nuzzling it, covering Will in his scent. It's a funny, ticklish feeling, and Will shivers under it, moaning very quietly.

Hannibal chuckles softly, and nibbles at Will's belly. "May I fuck you, Will? I've been thinking about it a lot lately."

"So polite," Will gasps, and bites his lip as Hannibal gets his cock in one hand gently squeezes. "I suppose you may. Were you chaste, out there in the Nation?"

Hannibal squeezes almost too hard, grinning. "I was," he says, and crawls up over Will to kiss him again. "I have the same clean bill of health that I left with."

Will lets Hannibal roll him onto his belly, and wraps his arms around the pillow, wanting something to hide his face in if he gets loud. Prepared as Hannibal tends to be, he does not actually have lube on hand. Will does, however, and soon Hannibal is working two slick fingers into him. The thin skin over his hard claws feels incredibly dangerous, but Hannibal is very careful, purring loud and deep enough for Will to feel it in the mattress springs under his chest. He concentrates on that because it's soothing, and helps him open up. 

A moment later Hannibal's pointed tip is pressed against him, and Will buries his face in the pillow to muffle a loud, strangled noise as Hannibal pushes into him. The remains of the real cat's copulatory spines are just soft little nubs, thank god, and Will whimpers, letting Hannibal sink in. He's much thicker toward the base, and Will groans, reaching back to hold himself even more open. Hannibal purrs and bites onto Will's neck, pointed teeth threatening to break the skin as he sets up a fast, deep rhythm, nubs stroking Will in a strange, ticklish way that's probably going to turn out to be addictive. 

When he grinds as deep as he can get and simultaneously bites the other side of Will's neck, Will can't help a loud, formless cry that subsides into steady moaning as Hannibal reaches around to grip his cock again. Hannibal purrs filthy encouragement into Will's ear, and soon he's coming, muffling a loud wail in the pillow as Hannibal holds him, his free arm tight across Will's chest as he grinds into him. There's a sweet ache to these last few strokes, and Will whimpers. Hannibal groans happily, and then starts purring again, covering Will's neck and shoulders with kisses.

"I missed you so much," Will murmurs, feeling stupid because Hannibal hasn't even pulled out, he should hold on getting mushy, but he can't help it. Hannibal lets out a pleased little trill, hugging him tightly.

"Good, because I missed you," Hannibal says, and makes feline noises of complaint as Will insists on wriggling off of his cock and out from under his crushing weight. He subsides into purring again when Will cuddles in against his chest.

"Rescue my dogs if I fall asleep," Will mumbles, and promptly does just that, carried down by Hannibal's purring.


End file.
